


as in olden days

by futuredescending



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Husbands, Kingsman: The Golden Circle Fix-it, M/M, bickering marrieds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-30
Updated: 2017-12-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 19:57:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13197453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/futuredescending/pseuds/futuredescending
Summary: “Perhaps I wanted your undivided attention to make up for lost time.” It was supposed to come off in the same light manner as the rest of their conversation, but in retrospect, as the small, playful smile slips off Harry’s face, it’s dangerously approaching the truth.The first Christmas afterwards.





	as in olden days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AFarFetchedPlot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AFarFetchedPlot/gifts).



“That’s it then,” Harry announces once he comes in from the blizzard currently raging outside, simultaneously trying to shed himself of the monstrously large snowflakes that have accumulated on him in his short sojourn outdoors whilst stomping the snow off his boots. “We’re fucked. We’ll be stuck here for at least the next few days with the way it’s coming down. Have I told you you hail from a winter hellscape?”

Merlin, who had been gamely ignoring Harry’s moaning in order to make further progress on his book, finally can’t hold back his snort of amusement. “It wasn’t my idea to visit the distillery in December.”

“I thought it might be a good idea to actually see what Statesman got us into.” Unfortunately, Harry’s lack of a left field of vision means there are still whole patches of snow on his shoulder he’s missed, which he discovers when he attempts to take off his coat and the snow hits the back of his neck.

The look on his face is one Merlin secretly snaps a still of for next year’s Christmas card. “With your blessing at the time.”

Having made sure he wouldn’t incidentally track any more snow into the tiny little cabin they were to call home for Christmas and the next few days besides, Harry finally approaches the couch upon which Merlin’s stretched out and carefully lowers himself to sit on the small sliver of remaining space by Merlin’s hips. Far from Merlin’s still healing legs, or lack thereof. They always bickered like chittering squirrels when they both tried to squeeze their equally lanky bodies onto the same piece of furniture under the guise of _cuddling_. There’s plenty of room now, Merlin wants to joke.

“I was hardly in my right mind then. I thought I’d be having to honour your memory. You ought to be grateful.” There’s still something haunted in Harry’s expression any time those terrible few days after Poppy Land is brought up. Grief, however temporary it was to be, had permanently imprinted itself upon his psyche. Not that Harry lets it get the best of him for long, brushing it off with a scowl. “Now I’m stuck managing a whisky distillery and housebreaking a puppy named Hamish.”

“Hamish is a fucking excellent name, you twat.”

“All at the mercies of American cowboys,” Harry finishes on a particularly tragic note.

“You really don’t like them, do you?” Merlin muses before laying his book down in his lap. There would be no more reading tonight when Harry wanted attention and affection and became worse than a cat. “Even after all they’ve done for us. And saving your life, I might add.”

“What, keeping me imprisoned for a year before having me almost drowned, drawn and quartered, and then strapped to a fucking bull? Housing a _traitor_ who nearly killed Eggsy and I—?”

“We had one of those too, if you recall,” Merlin reminds him. “Much more collateral damage done there.”

“Speaking in frankly nonsensical colloquialisms and appalling grammar. Their leader _spits_ out his bourbon like a camel.”

“...fair,” Merlin concedes. “The new Agent Whiskey’s very good.”

“Hmmph.” Unable to outright refute this, Harry settles for giving him Grade A side eye, frowning grumpily.

“And an excellent friend,” Merlin gently adds, laying a hand over Harry’s thigh. “She gives me advice on how to handle bored and disgruntled husbands, for one.” He won’t remind Harry that it was he who initially suggested Harry take a more active role in overseeing the distillery because until Kingsman got back on its feet, Harry was more likely to drive him round the bend.

Merlin will also never admit to liking it when Harry takes up his hand in both of his own and kisses his weathered knuckles like some ridiculous courting gentleman. Only this time when Harry performs the familiar gesture, he doesn’t let Merlin go, pressing Merlin’s hand against his cheek and squeezing tightly like he’s desperately trying to reassure himself of Merlin’s physicality.

Merlin turns his hand to caress Harry’s face. “It’s alright. I’m alright.” _You’re alright too_.

Almost losing each other. They don’t talk about it.

Anyway, Merlin would argue he has the greater claim to grief: he thought Harry was actually dead. For a whole _year_. And just when he thought miracles were real, he had to reconcile himself to a reality where Harry was alive but didn’t know who he was. He was desperate enough to try anything, even that dodgy torture bit. Well, he hadn’t been in his right mind either.

Harry only had to suffer that horrible reality for a few days, but then, Merlin isn’t so sure he’d wish that feeling on anyone, not even for a second. Except Valentine. Chester King as well. Definitely Poppy and Charlie. And a few others.

Merlin’s a wee bit more vindictive than he thought.

“God, look at us,” Harry breathes, turning to kiss his palm. “We’re uglier than ever. Eggsy’s side of the church will be a sore looking sight. And that’s just the Statesman he wants to invite.”

“Speak for yourself, you cyclops,” Merlin laughs. “You’re all asymmetrical now. At least I lost my legs to balance out my lack of hair.”

Despite himself, Harry starts laughing too, even if it’s a touch too hysterical and his eye shines too much. “Admit it. You just wanted bionic legs and this was the perfect excuse.”

“Aye. All in the master plan. To come up in here and get snowed in too.”

“You villainous rake. What on earth could possibly be your end game?”

“Perhaps I wanted your undivided attention to make up for lost time.” It was supposed to come off in the same light manner as the rest of their conversation, but in retrospect, as the small, playful smile slips off Harry’s face, it’s dangerously approaching the truth.

“Well, be careful what you wish for, you bastard,” Harry says. They both ignore the waver in his voice. “You’ve got it in spades. You won’t be rid of me now.”

“I think I’ll make do,” Merlin says before dragging Harry in by his shirt collar to put an end to all this soppy rubbish.


End file.
